Control and Vice
by crossing.stars
Summary: Everyone has a vice. Hermione struggles to control her magic after she loses the one she loves the most. The Order is struggling to stay alive. What on earth could Draco Malfoy do to help? AU/EWE Post-Hogwarts Dramione, extended war, rated M for language, drug use, explicit violence and sex.
1. Prologue

**Hello, all! This idea has been rolling around in my brain for quite a while, and since I have some free time I decided to open up a Word doc and see where it takes me! Currently, I have this prologue and two chapters written. I'd like to have a little more written chapter-wise before I begin posting them, but I'm posting this prologue to see if anyone would even be interested in reading this. Please R &R!**

 **DISCLAIMER:** I do not own the Harry Potter franchise or any affiliated characters/terms/etc. I'm just a small town girl, living in a lonely world... Just kidding. But I don't own HP.

 _Control._

People are screaming, some in pain, some in fear, some in anger. Her breath comes out in short, uneven puffs as she crouches behind a half-crumbled wall, trying to calm her nerves before rejoining the fight.

 _Control._

She holds her wand between her teeth for a moment to wipe her sweaty palms on the legs of her jeans, shifting to a more comfortable position with a grimace. Her wild, curly hair practically hums with the force of her magic.

 _Control._

Her wide brown eyes are the only part of her face that is visible when she peeks over the wall, glowing almost eerily in the dark. Ginny is less than a kilometer away, feet planted in the dying grass, fierce determination showing on her features when blocked curses illuminate it. It's hard to tell who she's dueling, but by the stature of the person, Hermione assumes it is one of the older Death Eaters. They are too tall and entirely too broad to be a woman. A gasp rips its way out of her throat as Ginny barely dodges a flash of green.

 _Control._

Dean and Seamus are not far, either, standing back to back as they duel their own opponents. Lavender lays at their feet, but from this distance, it is hard to tell if she is breathing or not. A flash of blonde out of the corner of her eye distracts Hermione for a moment, and when she focuses again on the battlefield, she sees that Seamus has crumpled to the ground, holding a hand to his stomach. Dean's wand movements become more frantic, and the Death Eater he was dueling flies across the clearing and crashes into one of his comrades and does not get up. Hermione inches toward the edge of her wall, preparing to spring into action, when a bolt of sickly yellow light hits Dean in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground beside Seamus. Hermione's heart seizes in her chest at the sound of maniacal laughter that follows, and she springs from her hiding space, casting a shield around herself as she sprints for Dean.

 _Control._

Her boots slip and slide on the damp grass, and she falls to her knees beside her friends. Lips and hands trembling, she waves her wand and mutters the spell to detect heartbeats. She lets out a choked sob when she realizes there is only one besides her own. She quickly turns to Seamus, rolling him onto his back and pulling his shirt up to inspect the wound that is still oozing blood. She waves her wand over it to stop the bleeding, trying to ignore his pained chants of _Dean, Lav, no, please,_ and traces her wand from his right hip to his left, sewing the skin back together. It will leave a scar, but he is lucky that the curse didn't succeed in pulling his intestines out as it was intended to. Hermione wipes the back of her hand across her forehead, accidentally zapping herself as her wand bushes her hair.

 _Control._

This close, she can tell that Dean and Seamus were protecting Lavender's body, probably so that there could be a proper burial for the girl after the battle. Lavender's face is almost unrecognizable and her hair is still sizzling slightly. Dean's light brown skin now has a blue tinge to it, and the veins crawling up his neck and down his left arm are black. His eyes are completely white, and Hermione's tears fall onto his face as she closes them.

"Seamus," She says, placing a hand on his shoulder. His mutters only grow louder, and she knows that if he does not stop, he will draw attention to them. It is hard enough to keep her shield around the four of them. She shakes his shoulder and says again, "Seamus," but he doesn't respond. Hermione takes a quick look around and, seeing that most people around them are occupied, draws her arm back and slaps him across the face. His eyes fly open and his muttering ceases immediately. Hermione closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

 _Control._

"Seamus, I've healed your wound. There was—I—I couldn't save them," she chokes out, scrubbing a hand across her face angrily. Seamus lets out a whimper and she hears the quiet _thud_ of his head hitting the ground. "Seamus, you need to take them and go," she urges, placing a hand on his wrist and squeezing. "Can you apparate?"

"Yes," he croaks, rolling onto his side and pushing himself onto his knees. He grabs Dean's arm and Lavender's hand, turning to look at Hermione. "Thank you," he whispers, and then is gone. Hermione sits on her knees in the grass for a moment longer, staring at her trembling hands and wondering if she deserves his thanks.

A flash of light narrowly misses her, and her fingertips spark in response to her increased heart rate.

 _Control._

Hermione jumps to her feet, turning in the direction the curse came from, meeting the eyes of one of her old classmates, Gabriel Tate. The former Hufflepuff's eyes narrow and he lifts his wand. Hermione points her want at him in return, thinking of disarming him and then restraining him. Before the thought is complete, his wand sails into her hand and thick, ropey vines grow from the ground beneath his feet, wrapping first around his ankles and wrists and then around his chest. She stares first in astonishment and then horror as the wizard's wand turns to ash in her hand. She shakes her hand, watching the ashes float to the ground and then checks to see if anyone noticed her strange burst of wandless, wordless magic.

 _Control._

A scream that sounds suspiciously like Harry's sounds to her right and she takes off at a sprint, dodging beams of light when her shield charm fails to deflect them. When she reaches the scene, Harry is on his knees next to a convulsing Luna, openly sobbing, choking on the words that spill from his lips as flashes fly from the end of his wand toward a cackling Alecto Carrow. Hermione doesn't slow down and instead falls painfully to her knees beside Harry and Luna. Wherever Alecto is, Amycus is never far behind.

"Harry," Hermione pants, crawling forward enough so that her shield encompasses the three of them. A combination of a wheeze and a grunt between hexes is all she gets in response, so she turns her attention to Luna instead. The blonde witch is seizing violently, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles are white. Hermione moves quickly to her other side, taking her head and placing it in her lap to prevent Luna from hurting herself further. She lights the tip of her wand and passes it over the younger witch's face, checking for any signs that she bit her tongue. Satisfied that she hasn't, Hermione casts a diagnostic spell and sucks in a deep breath that gets caught in her throat at the results. Extensive internal damage, most likely caused by extensive bouts of crucio and blunt force trauma. Multiple head contusions, countless bruises, rope burns, and three broken ribs. Hermione's eyes begin to water as she turns her wand on her dotty friend.

"I'm sorry," she whispers as she casts a nonverbal _Petrificus Totalus_ to still her movements. With that done, she pulls her beaded bag from a pocket in her robes and summons a healing potion, which she forces into Luna's mouth, massaging her throat to get her to swallow. Surprisingly, her hand is steady when she passes it over Luna's ribs to heal the broken bones there. She becomes dimly aware that there are two new, male voices shouting words that she refuses to focus on. So long as she can heal Luna, it will be okay. Dean and Lavender's faces flash across her mind, reminders of her failures already that night, and her hairband snaps with a loud crack, sending her hair tumbling over her shoulders and into her face where it shocks her cheeks painfully. She yelps and focuses back on Luna, furiously pushing her hair out of her face.

 _Control._

Once she is sure she has done all she can, Hermione murmurs a _finite_ and breathes out a sigh of relief to see Luna laying still and breathing easier. So focused is she that she does not hear him scream her name, does not see the flash of green, until his body collides with hers, knocking her off balance. Her head cracks painfully on a sharp rock and she groans. When she opens her eyes, her vision is blurry but she can still make out the shock of red hair, signature of the Weasley family.

"Ron," she wheezes, shaking her head in hopes of clearing her vision. "Ron, you're crushing me," This time when she opens her eyes, Hermione sees everything in startling clarity: the faint stubble on his cheeks and above his lip, the freckles that she had tried and failed to count, and his open, empty blue eyes. For a moment she forgets to breathe, cannot hear anything besides the pounding of her own heart, loud and overwhelming.

" _Hermione," Ron whispered, cupping her face in his hands. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I love you so, so much." He leaned down to kiss her forehead, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her tight against him. "I would die for you," he told her, "I would die for you a million times over,"_

" _You won't have to," she responded, snaking her arms around his waist and squeezing him tightly, as though they could get closer than they already were._

She had told him he wouldn't have to die for her. She thought it was true, thought she could handle herself, thought they would make it through the war and live happily ever after. She had been wrong. Her world explodes with sound as she takes her next breath. Her exhale comes out in a low whine, clearly not heard by the two pathetic, disgusting wastes of flesh and oxygen and magic that had taken her love and her future away from her. Harry barely spares her a glance, focusing instead on throwing everything he has at the ones who had killed his first and best friend. With another whine, Hermione pushes Ron's body off herself and rolls to her knees. Her chest aches and it feels as though her very soul is quivering with pain and rage. Dirt and rocks swirl around her as she climbs to her feet. Her breath leaves her faster now, louder and more desperate. She staggers forward, eyes focused on Amycus and Alecto, both of whom have yet to notice her. When she is within hearing distance, she stops.

"Who?" she demands in a whisper. Three heads snap in her direction. Harry stares, heartbroken, and opens his mouth to speak. When only a whimper comes out, he hangs his head in shame. Hermione focuses her attention on the twins instead.

" _Who killed him?_ " she shrieks, the air around her crackling dangerously. Alecto, not noticing or caring the danger she is in, cackles madly and claps her hands together in glee.

"I did it!" she proclaims proudly, "I killed the filthy blood traitor! And what a pleasant kill it was, eh Amycus? Right in front of his best friend and his little Mudblood," Amycus looks nervously between his sister and the distraught witch in front of them. Alecto turns to Hermione with a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Don't worry, filthy girl, you're next." Before the Death Eater can raise her wand, Hermione lets out a feral scream and holds her hand out. Alecto's wand flies out of her hand and into Hermione's, incinerating the moment it touched her palm.

"You bitch!" Alecto screeches, stomping forward. Harry wipes his nose on his sleeve and raises his wand, but Hermione shakes her head in warning. Alecto does not halt in her steps until she is standing directly in front of Hermione. She raises her hand and slaps her hard across the face. Hermione feels something snap deep within her and her hand shoots out to close around Alecto's neck. Raw magic pulses around them, distorting the sounds of the battle still raging and Harry's broken sobs.

"Don't you ever," Hermione hisses, " _ever,_ speak of him again." Alecto's eyes bulge and she tries to speak, but Hermione's grip is too strong. A feral glint appears in Hermione's eyes as she leans forward to whisper directly into Alecto's ear. "Better yet, why don't I make it so that you can never speak of anyone again?" She removes her hand from Alecto's neck to grasp the hairs at the base of her skull instead, pulling hard on them so that the witch's neck is exposed. Using her magic to feel around, Hermione grasps Alecto's vocal chords and tugs, severing them and pulling them out through the older woman's throat. She allows them to float above her palm for a moment or two so that Alecto gets a clear view when she sets them ablaze.

Hermione drops the Death Eater and turns to Harry, who is staring at her with a mix of fear and awe. Amycus has conveniently disappeared, and there is no one to help up the gasping and gurgling Alecto, who is crawling away as fast as she can. _Fucking coward_ , Hermione thinks.

"Let's go, Harry," she says, holding her hand out to him. He hesitates, his eyes sliding first over Luna, and then to Ron. Hermione huffs out a breath and summons her beaded bag to her side, then Luna, then Ron, and turns to Harry once more. "I said let's _go,_ Harry." Her raven-haired friend nods mutely and hurries over to her.

"Here's your wand, Hermione," He says, avoiding her eyes. She stares at the vinewood for a moment before shaking her head.

"I don't think I'll be needing that anymore," Hermione places her hand on Harry's shoulder and they disappear without a sound.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello again! I was completely blown away by the response to the first chapter! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, read, favorited, and followed this story. I hope everyone got my replies. This site is kind of funky. As we get into the actual story, I'd like to say this to anyone concerned that the characters are OOC (out of character): war changes people. Losing the people you love changes people. Any extreme OOC-ness will be explained in the story. Please trust that I have a plan for these characters, and that all will be explained in due time. Thanks once again for reading and reviewing! If you could do that again, I certainly wouldn't complain ;)**

 **DISCLAIMER:** see prologue

"Potter," he barks, startling the other man awake. Potter looks rough. He feels it, too, if the slump of his shoulders and the deep purple smudges under his eyes can be believed.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Potter runs a hand through his ever-messy hair and crosses his arms over his chest. Draco lets his eyes linger on the way Harry's hands tremble before meeting the glazed eyes of the so called Chosen One.

"There's another raid," Draco says, frowning at the way Potter's eyes come to life. "Shacklebolt gave the okay for you to participate." Potter's lips twitch up into a small, hard smile. He uncrosses his arms and leans forward, pressing his hands into his thighs.

"Will _she_ be there?" Potter's voice is low, and something in his tone is wild. Draco suppresses a groan but allows his eyes to roll. At the shake of his head, Potter's shoulders drop and he leans back, crossing his arms again. Draco shifts slightly, resting his chin in his palm. His long, thin fingers tap out a rhythm on his cheek. People feel compelled to speak in order to fill uncomfortable silences. It's worked on Potter before. Draco wonders if the boy-who-lived will ever admit that he has an obsession. It seems unlikely, considering the man hardly speaks unless spoken to. The times when he offers information or input or even just a simple greeting are few and far between. Draco is fine with this. He's learned to find comfort in silence. Across the table from him, Potter fidgets with his long cold cup of tea. The man's knuckles are scraped and bruised, and the index finger on his left hand is still slightly swollen. Just as Potter finally opens his mouth to say something, there's a loud shout and then the sound of something breaking from downstairs. Potter jumps up immediately, but Draco holds out a hand to stop him.

"I'll go," he says, ignoring Potter's insulted huff. "You know that if you go down there right now, she's liable to hex you," without waiting for an answer, Draco stalks out of the room, turning right to travel down a set of stairs. _Bloody children,_ he thinks to himself, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose to alleviate the headache he can feel coming. Then, with a deep breath for fortitude, he opens the door at the base of the stairs. The sound of laughter reaches his ears just as soon as the earthy smell reaches his nose. Rolling his eyes, Draco steps further into the room and closes the door behind him. The front room in the basement is small and dark, nothing at all compared to the rest of the space, which is done in bursts of color like a rainbow. He still remembers the first time he was down here and was told to wait in the yellow room. He had been astonished and slightly uncomfortable in a room decorated entirely in different shades of yellow, had felt like a black stain on the bright couch.

As the smell gets stronger, Draco pulls out his wand and casts a bubble head charm. Getting high right before patrol duty is _not_ recommended if one wants to survive. He follows his nose around a corner and into the orange room and stops. There, laying in the middle of the room, is Hermione Granger and George and Ginny Weasley. The trio hasn't noticed his entry yet, so he leans against the doorframe to watch them for a moment. George is levitating the pieces of some broken vase above him, clearly trying to put it back together. The flowers that had previously been in the vase are now in Granger's hair, put there by Ginny who is sprawled on her stomach, hands in the older girl's curly locks. Granger has her eyes closed and her fingers run over the shag carpet as if it is an animal she needs to soothe. Her lips are moving, but no sound is being made. Ginny pushes on her shoulder and Granger rolls onto her side, her back to him. The top she's wearing exposes the smooth expanse of her back and the sharp points of her shoulder blades. The white is stark against her mocha skin and the deep orange of the carpet, and Draco can't help but stare.

"Done!" Ginny proclaims, clapping her hands together and startling Draco out of his trance. Granger rolls back over onto her back and reaches a hand up to feel the flower petals with a small smile. "It looks beautiful, right Malfoy?" Perhaps they _had_ noticed his entrance and just decided not to say anything. Draco clears his throat and meets Ginny's light brown eyes for a moment before turning back to Granger.

"Yes," he drawls, forcing himself to sound unaffected. "Such a pretty little princess," Granger doesn't react, but Ginny grins happily and falls back, making sure her hair fans out so that it blends into the carpet.

"Why are you down here, Malfoy?" George has finished piecing together the vase and is now setting it on the table where it belongs. He turns and meets Draco's eyes with his own glassy ones and Draco shrugs.

"I heard someone yell and then a crash," he responds. "I came to see if everything was alright." A scoff comes from Granger's direction and the other three turn to look at her.

"More like you came to make sure I wasn't having another fit," she says, glaring at him from her place on the floor. Draco sneers at her and stands up straight, letting his hands fall to his sides. Trust Granger to ruin the pretty picture she makes by speaking. He opens his mouth to say something scathing, but George interrupts him.

"I got a little too carried away," he shrugs, grinning widely. Beside him, Ginny covers her face with her hands to stifle a laugh. "Don't worry about it, mate. We're good down here,"

Draco's eyes narrow as he takes one last look around the room. The plants that hang from the ceiling are all intact, and there isn't a single rip or tear in the large, squashy cushions that surround the table in the center of the room. A small gold cauldron sits in the center of the table, smoke drifting lazily up into the air before settling close to the ground. A decent amount of hash lay next to the cauldron, along with sprigs of lavender and a single eucalyptus leaf. Granger's special blend, then. Ginny sits up and leans back on her hands. Following his gaze to the cauldron, she smiles lazily.

"Want to join us, Malfoy?" Draco cuts his eyes over to Granger, who has gotten to her feet and is tending to a plant, seemingly ignoring the others in the room. Her shoulders are tense, though, and Draco has patrol anyway. He shakes his head and Ginny frowns. "But you're much easier to be around when you're high," she groans, laying back on the carpet once more. The corners of Draco's mouth twitch and he shrugs good-naturedly.

"Maybe next time," he says, and turns to go. He refuses to look back, even when George begins to speak softly and he can feel Granger's eyes on the back of his neck. He climbs the stairs and turns right into the parlor, surprised to see Potter still sitting in the same spot. Usually, he vacates the room he's been cornered in as quickly as he can. Harry looks up as Draco enters the room, curiosity shining in his eyes for a moment before his mask slips back into place. Draco returns to his seat and summons the teapot and another cup and begins to prepare another pot of tea. Making tea with magic is faster, but never tastes as good as it does when it's made by hand. Once again, he waits for Potter to fill the silence. He doesn't have to wait long.

"How is she?" he asks, and Draco chuckles quietly to himself. He knows who Potter is asking after, but decides to give him a bit of a tough time.

"You'll have to be more specific," he says, placing a teabag in his cup and pouring water from the kettle over it. "There are two women down there that you are currently avoiding," Draco smirks when Potter sighs and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, there's a hint of shame showing through. _Good,_ Draco thinks, _He should be ashamed. Bloody coward._

"I was talking about Hermione," Potter says. He leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I know how Ginny is. I saw her just last night with Montague," his voice is bitter now, and Draco shakes his head.

"You did that, mate," Draco says, blowing gently on his tea and then taking a sip. Potter looks away, scowling, but doesn't respond. Draco rolls his eyes and sets his cup on the table. Stupid, stubborn fool.

"Granger is doing well, I think." Draco finally tells him. Potter glances at him out of the corner of his eye and Draco continues, "George broke some vase in that ugly orange room of hers. She's got her gold cauldron out, and the three of them are lazing about, laughing at nothing," Potter lets out a sigh of relief and nods. When he doesn't immediately get up to leave, Draco decides to push his luck.

"Why did you let them take her off active duty, Potter?"

Harry's reaction to the question is to simply tense up and clasp his hands tightly together on the table. The slight redness on the tip of his ear is the only thing that betrays how uncomfortable the question makes him. When it becomes clear that Potter isn't going to answer, Draco leans forward and speaks a bit louder.

"Why won't you defend her anymore? Why do you let them keep her here, a prisoner in her own home? I thought she was your best friend, Potter."

Potter slams his fists down on the table, knocking over his cup and Draco's. "That's none of your _fucking_ business, Malfoy! My best friend died four years ago, and the Hermione I knew… she died with him." Potter pushes back from the table harshly, causing his chair to fall.

"Shacklebolt said to meet him in George's old shop," he calls after Harry. He waves his wand to clean up the mess and right the chair with a smile of grim satisfaction and stands to prepare for his rounds. Potter and Granger will need to get their shit together if the war is going to end anytime soon, and Draco plans to kick their arses into gear.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello again! My apologies on this sort of late update. I just had my wisdom teeth taken out a few days ago and have been laid up in bed since. There will be two (2) kinds of flashbacks in this story. The ones with dates above them are sort of like plot points, things that explain certain parts of the story that might seem OOC or strange. The ones in italics are memories that the character is remembering in that current moment. This story will get gradually darker, but I'm trying to keep some humor in it for as long as I can. Thank you so much to everyone who read/reviewed/followed/favorited! :) It gives me the motivation I need to keep writing!**

 **3 years, 6 months ago**

Hermione sits in one of the parlors in Grimmauld Place, staring out at the stretchers filled with wounded fighters. This battle had been especially bloody. Alecto had been there, searching through the sea of Order members, trying to find Hermione. Many had fallen because of her, and more were injured. Hermione counts the number of stretchers that are covered completely with white sheets. Twelve dead. Countless still fighting to stay alive, more still losing that fight. The number of dead will be higher by the end of the night. Anger, grief, and hopelessness swirl in her chest, each fighting for dominance. The overhead lights begin to flicker, and one lightbulb explodes, showering glass down on a mediwitch and her patients. Hermione grits her teeth and leaves the room before anyone notices that it was her fault the bulb shattered. It had taken long enough for Percy to find a way to get electricity to run in the old house, and she doesn't want to be the one who ruins it.

She ducks into the nearest study and collapses onto a chaise lounge, letting her face fall into her hands. She isn't there but for a moment before the quiet clink of glasses alerts her to someone else's presence. Her head snaps up and she meets Harry's eyes. Almost immediately, he looks down at the desk he's sitting behind. Hermione notices the half-empty bottle of cognac and Harry's empty tumbler and sighs inwardly.

"I know," Harry says, letting out an awkward chuckle. Hermione stares at him, saying nothing. "I know this isn't an effective way to deal with my feelings."

Hermione shrugs. "I didn't say anything," she tells him.

"No, but you were thinking it, weren't you?" his voice is petulant, as though he expects her to scold him for trying to drown his sorrows in liquor.

"I wasn't actually," Hermione says, standing and walking over to the desk. Harry's eyes follow her as she picks up the bottle and examines the label. A wistful smile crosses her face. "My papá loved Courvoisier," she sighs. Her shoulders sag for a moment before she summons another tumbler with a wave of her hand and pours herself a generous amount, raising an eyebrow at Harry before pouring him some as well. She takes her glass back over to the chaise and takes a sip, relishing the smooth taste of the liquor.

The summer before her sixth year, she and her father would stay up late, watching novellas and pretending (and sometimes _not_ pretending) to be scandalized. One night, when her mother was out of town for a conference, he poured her a finger's width of Courvoisier and told her to sip, not gulp. _Savor the taste_ , he told her. _Not many things can compete with fine liquor._ She hated it, at first, but didn't want to hurt her papá's feelings, so she continued to drink it anyway. It was a rare occurrence, but she grew to love it nonetheless. Merlin, she misses her parents. The air in the study begins to grow humid, and Hermione scrambles to think of something to pull herself out of her maudlin mood.

"You know, Harry," she says, a slight edge of panic to her voice as she fights to control her emotions. "It's kind of strange that the Blacks kept muggle alcohol in their home when they made it clear that they hated them."

Harry lets out a short laugh. "It is, isn't it? I suppose they figured it was worth it. Not many things can compare to good liquor, muggle or not."

Hermione's breath catches in her throat when Harry repeats almost word for word what her papá said to her just a few short years before. "No, I suppose not," she forces out, throwing back the rest of her glass and hurrying out of the study. She ignores the sound of Harry calling her name, rushing up the stairs, intent on making it to her and Ginny's room before the tears in her eyes can fall. Just as she reaches the landing, she runs into someone, hard, and they both fall to the ground.

"Circe's tits, Hermione," George grunts, sitting up and pushing her off him gently. "You knocked me over _and_ you literally rained on my parade." Hermione feels her face heat as she realizes that there's a literal storm cloud above her head and that she did, indeed, seem to rain on George's "parade". Said parade is half a dozen rubber ducks that have been enchanted to follow him, banging on drums and playing instruments but making no noise.

"Sorry, George," she mutters, climbing to her feet and offering him and hand. When his palm touches hers, electricity seems to shoot from her hand into his, making him yelp and pull his hand away, shaking it as though he was burned. Hermione quickly tucks her hands behind her back and mumbles another apology as the rain begins to fall harder. How had she not noticed her hair clinging to her face and the way her shirt is clinging to her skin? George stares at her for a moment before he stands on his own and wraps an arm around her shoulder, ignoring the rain and the much smaller zap he receives by doing so.

"Come on," he tells her, leading her past the door to her room and up the flight of stairs to the third floor. "There's someone I want you to meet."

"Who?" she asks him, looking up in time to see a smirk fix itself on his face.

"Mary Jane,"

 **Present Day**

Hermione watches Malfoy leave her sanctuary, fighting to keep the anger locked tight inside of her chest. _Came to make sure everything was fine, my arse,_ she fumes, digging her nails into her palms. Bloody Malfoy, always sticking his pointy nose where it doesn't belong, making her think of things she would rather ignore, trying to push her to be someone she isn't.

" _Where's the know-it-all Granger we all loved to hate?" he sneered. Hermione fought back a growl at the disgust in his voice and glared at him instead. Malfoy simply raised an eyebrow in response. "Nothing to say?" he taunted. "Surely the "Brightest Witch of our Age" has something rattling around in that big brain of hers." Hermione watched him for a moment before pushing back from the table and walking out of the room. Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned just fast enough to avoid Malfoy's out-stretched hand. With a push of raw energy, she pinned him against the wall and stalked forward, stopping when their faces were inches apart. The feral side of her was pleased to see a hint of fear in his eyes, and the Gryffindor side was disgusted. Bloody coward._

" _I'm going to tell you this one time, Malfoy," she hissed, poking a finger hard into his chest. Her magic crackled in the air around them. "I'm not the girl you picked on in Hogwarts. You can't bully me into telling you what you want to hear. I don't owe you anything, nor do I wish to even breathe the same air as you. So stay out of my_ fucking _way, or I promise I'll make you regret your decision to pester me." Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione shook her head and he closed it. He probably wouldn't be able to speak anyway. Her magic had a way of following her whims without any real input from her, and right now, she didn't want him to even whisper in her direction. She turned to go, and paused before she turned the corner._

" _By the way," she said, looking over her shoulder at him, "My magic is hard to control these days. You may be let down when I leave the hall, but you may not," she shrugged, smirking at the raw fury shining from his eyes. "Maybe I'll just leave you here until someone takes pity on your sorry arse and frees you. Whichever comes first," then, with a cheeky wink, she turned the corner and headed down to the basement, her home, her sanctuary, and at times, her prison._

"—ermione? Hermione, can you hear me?" George reaches out and grasps her elbow, not even blinking when her magic lashes out at him. He leads her over to one of the bean bags and pulls her down beside him. "I know how he gets to you, love," he tells her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Ginny crawls over to them and lays her head in Hermione's lap and places her hand in her hair, clearly a demand to be pet. Hermione can't help the small smile that steals over her lips. Ron used to do the same thing. She begins to run her fingers through Ginny's silky hair, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Yeah," she says on her exhale, leaning her head on George's shoulder. "He always finds a way to get under my skin. Always invading my space and watching me like he's waiting for me to break."

Ginny pats Hermione's calf as George hums noncommittally. "I don't think that's what he's doing, 'Mione. I think he wants to get you back on active duty. I've heard him arguing with Shacklebolt before. He just has to prove you're _stable,_ " The implied air quotes around the last word make Hermione snort derisively.

"Is anyone stable after six years of war, Gin?" she asks softly, trying not to offend the younger witch. It is no secret that Ginny enjoys the company of many people, just like it is no secret that George is high almost every waking hour, or that Harry takes every mission available just to try and hunt down Alecto. It's no secret that Shacklebolt is an alcoholic, or that Seamus still talks to Dean and Lavender like they didn't die four years ago. No one has escaped the war unscathed. Even Luna has lost some of her whimsical nature. She's one of the Order's most ruthless tacticians. That doesn't stop her from making blunt statements about truths people would rather keep hidden, though.

" _Stop being afraid of your own magic, Hermione," she said baldly, fixing those bright blue eyes on Hermione's shocked brown ones. When Hermione tried and failed to refute her, Luna just smiled dreamily and patted her hand before leaving the room for a meeting with the other leaders._

"I suppose not," Ginny whispers, pulling Hermione out of her thoughts. She clears her throat loudly before turning her attention to her brother. "George, I think I have a new idea for a product," she proclaims, a mischievous glint appearing in her eye. George perks up instantly.

"Oh?"

Ginny just grins and climbs to her feet, holding a hand out to help the others up. "Come on," she says, pulling them to their feet and bouncing out of the room.

"Wait, Gin! Where are you going?" Hermione calls. George starts after her immediately and Hermione sighs, but quickens her steps to catch up to them. They have their heads together and are whispering too low for her to hear. Ginny shoots her a wink over her shoulder and Hermione gives a small, strained smile in return. With every step out of the basement, her nerves are returning. They finally come to a stop in front of one of the less-used fireplaces.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asks again, clasping her hands behind her back to hide their trembling. Ginny reaches out and takes a handful of Floo powder and throws it into the fireplace.

"Gryffindor Tower!" and she disappears in a whirl of green flames. Hermione groans as George lets out a delighted laugh and follows his sister without hesitation. Oh, to hell with it. Hermione grabs a handful of powder and follows the others, determined not to let her nerves get the better of her this time. _I'm a big girl,_ she thinks to herself as she stumbles out of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room and brushes the soot off her clothes and waves a hand to pull it out of her hair. _I can control my magic. My magic does not control me,_ she tells herself, giving in to Ginny's contagious excitement as she grabs her hand and pulls her toward the portrait hole. _I am_ _ **not**_ _afraid of my magic, thank you very much,_ she imagines telling Luna. _I'm not dangerous,_ she imagines telling Kingsley. _I'm still me,_ she wants to scream. Determination fills her, and she pushes her negative thoughts to the side. For one night, the old Hermione is back.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey again! Bit of a late update, here. My apologies! College is… well, college. Thanks very much to everyone who read and reviewed, and a special thanks to Lena224 and matkatry for reviewing every single chapter so far! Fair warning, I only have one more chapter pre-written right now. I'll do my best to churn them out. Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

Draco rubs a hand across his face, leaning back against the castle wall. It had seemed odd to him that he was assigned to patrol near the not-so-secret passageway to Hogsmeade. _It makes more sense to seal it,_ he had argued. Shacklebolt had only shaken his head. With a sigh he pulls out his wand, casting a nonverbal _Homenum Revelio._ As he expected, he is the only one here. Of course, there are others patrolling various parts of the castle. Potter had given up that infernal map of his before Draco had joined the Order, after the Battle for Hogwarts. Draco remembers when he had first laid eyes on it.

 _The dragon Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, former professor McGonagall, Potter, and Granger all crowded around the table in the main parlor, waiting for Draco to speak. Granger was studiously ignoring his existence, which set his teeth on edge, Potter was glowering at the table, Weasley's face was blank, and McGonagall and Shacklebolt looked expectant. On the table in front of them was a folded piece of parchment. Draco leaned forward, examining it for anything that might give it away as special. Nothing immediately stood out, so he pulled out his wand and tapped it, muttering "Specialis Revelio,"_

 _Words began to form on the front folds of the parchment right away, and Draco picked it up to study it further._

" _The Marauder's Map," he read, glancing up to the others. "I assume Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are the marauders?" he asked. McGonagall's lips twitched._

" _That is correct, Mister Malfoy," she said. "Why don't you go ahead and take a look at the rest of the map?" Draco sighed inwardly and placed the parchment on the table. He tapped it with his wand and words began to form._

" _Wormtail would like to inform Mister Malfoy that he is going to have to try harder than that," Draco read aloud, frowning. "Moony would like to remind Mister Malfoy that he is too clever to expect it to be that easy," he continued, looking up at the others once more. They said nothing, but Potter's eyes were fixed on the map instead of the table, and Granger's lips were slightly upturned. He cleared his throat and read on, "Padfoot would like to congratulate Mister Malfoy on surviving his own cowardice and joining the right side," Draco scowled as both Granger and Potter laughed at that, his cheeks reddening. He dropped the map on the table and crossed his arms petulantly. When it was clear he wouldn't continue, Granger rolled her eyes and pushed back from the table, coming to lean over his right shoulder. Draco's eyes followed her movement and he tried to subtly scoot his chair away from her but, judging by the elbow that knocked into his temple and her insincere "sorry", he wasn't successful. Granger cleared her throat and touched her index finger to the map._

" _I solemnly swear I am up to no good," she announced. Draco watched with interest as the map changed, blueprints of Hogwarts scrawling themselves across the parchment. To his greater interest, names began to appear in places where he knew there were patrol routes. A few names were scattered elsewhere, but not many. Draco spotted Ginny Weasley's name almost overlapping with Ernie MacMillan's, and his eyes immediately sought out Potter's. The dark-haired man's throat bobbed as he looked anywhere except his ex-girlfriend's place on the map._

" _So, this is how you never got caught," he said, leaning back from the table and trying to ignore the barely-there heat emanating from Granger's arm so close to his head. "Bloody unfair, that is," he grumbled, earning a bell-like peal of laughter from Granger that sent a shiver up his spine. Potter shrugged a shoulder, never taking his eyes off the map. Shacklebolt cleared his throat and shared a glance with both McGonagall and the dragon Weasley._

" _Yes, well," he began, clasping his hands together on the table in front of him. "However unfair that may be, Mister Malfoy, we showed you the map because we would like your help replicating it." Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Shacklebolt continued, "You were one of the top students in your year, as well as Hermione here, and Padma Patil, who is elsewhere at the moment." Draco rolled the idea around for a moment. Although there was the obvious drawback of having to work with someone he despised and someone who despised him in return, he couldn't deny that the idea of working on something this advanced intrigued him. Plus, it might be able to increase his standing with the Order._

" _Very well," he said at last. "I'll do it." Granger scoffed behind him but otherwise made no comment. Shacklebolt smiled, standing from his seat. The others did the same, Potter and Granger especially anxious to leave the room._

" _Excellent choice, Mister Malfoy," Shacklebolt said. He gave a nod, which Draco returned, and left, McGonagall, Potter and Granger following behind him. Draco turned his eyes to the dragon Weasley and lifted an eyebrow in question. The ginger-haired man retook his seat, gesturing for Draco to do the same. He summoned a bottle of Butterbeer for each of them and twisted the top off his, taking a long drink._

" _Let's have a chat, little Malfoy," he said. Draco settled into his chair, waving his hand for the other man to continue speaking._

Draco sighs and pushes off the wall, beginning to walk toward the end of the corridor. His patrol route takes him around the corner into another corridor, where three figures are huddled together at the end. Draco slows his steps and lifts his wand, his ears just barely picking up the slight buzz that indicates a _Muffilatio._ He casts a nonverbal _Finite,_ but it has no effect. His heart begins to beat a little faster as he sizes up his opponents. They are all varying heights, but one of them is between twelve to fifteen centimeters shorter than the other two. None of them are particularly muscular, but that doesn't mean anything when it comes to magical talent. An _immobulus_ should work well enough to incapacitate them. If they are Death Eaters, it might be wise to capture instead of kill them. Voldemort may have been killed, but the war is far from over and Dolohov is crueler and more unpredictable than the Dark Lord ever was. Inside information is extremely valuable. He fires off three spells in quick succession, then falls to his knees with a grunt as they all rebound off a powerful shield charm and head back in his direction. His wand is tugged out of his hand but he summons it back before it makes it to the one who tried to take it. He stands and casts a shield around himself, not a moment too soon. Three bolts of light bounce off it and hit the other shield, fizzling out half way back to his. He conjures a flame and sends it hurtling toward the other end of the hall. This spell, like the others, bounces harmfully off the shield, but illuminates the faces hiding behind it. Draco curses and begins to walk forward, deflecting curses until his face is shown in the scant torchlight.

"Relax Granger, Weasleys," he says holding his arms up. Inside, he is fuming. What kind of idiots conspire in a corner, completely in the dark? If they hadn't been shielded, likely Granger's wild magic protecting them, he would have three very angry Gryffindors on his hands. The three stepped forward and Draco dropped his arms back down to his sides, sliding his wand back into his robes. George walks over and claps a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"You really had us scared, mate," he says, a smile belying his words. Draco snorts.

"You're too high to feel fear," he shoots back, winking at Ginny. Granger rolls her eyes as her friends laugh. "Granger," he says, taking a step forward. She tilts her head up to meet his eyes. "That an impressive shield. Was it hard to keep up?" She shrugs a shoulder, her expression betraying nothing.

"It's automatic," she says. Ginny lays an arm around her shoulder and Granger shoots a small smile at the younger girl. "You know my magic is different than others', Malfoy,"

"Yes," Draco drawls, "Your magic is extremely… _unique,"_ He hides a wince when George's hand on his shoulder tightens uncomfortably. Granger's eerie golden eyes flash with something. Anger? No, frustration, maybe even a little fear. Draco smirks. "No need to be afraid of it, Granger. Wild magic is very powerful when used correctly. You could be an asset to the Order, if only you'd pull your head out of your arse." Ginny's gasp barely reaches Draco's ears before he's shoved to the side and George is vanishing a large murder of crows that were seemingly intent on pulling Draco's hair out. One of them had come close enough that he felt the air generated by the force of its wings beating.

"Hermione," George chastises, placing his hands on his hips. "He was trying to get a rise out of you on purpose." Granger is still glaring at him and her hair is hovering around her face, literally sparking with the force of her anger. Draco grins and winks at her, causing a sound that seems suspiciously like thunder to echo through the corridor.

"Hermione!" George says again, raising his voice. "Are you listening to me, little book worm?" Granger's eyes snap over to him and her anger melts away. She begins to giggle almost immediately. Ginny takes a step away, looking at the curly-haired witch as though she's grown a second head.

"You—look—just like—your mother," she forces out between laughs, covering her mouth with her hands and bending at the waist. Ginny looks at her brother and a smile begins to tug at her lips.

"You do look like mum," she agrees. George huffs in mock offense, turning his nose into the air.

"Well, I never!" He exclaims, crossing his arms over his chest. This only increases the volume of Granger's laughter and Ginny joins her. Draco observes the three friends and tries to ignore the pang in his chest. He tells himself that he doesn't miss his friends as much as he does, but he knows it's a lie. It's been too long since he's seen Theo, and Blaise… well, he won't think about Blaise. Charlie is currently staying at Shell Cottage, and it's too dangerous to pop over to France for a visit. Pansy is in Merlin knows which safe house, studying her healing skills. Fortunately, he'll get to see her after the raid in two days' time. Granger runs a finger under her eyes and lets out a content sigh. Ginny wraps her arm back around her shoulders and begins walking. They stop at the corner when they realize George isn't following them. They both turn to look over their shoulders.

"Coming, George?" Granger asks, her voice soft and almost intimate. Draco frowns. Is there something going on between the two of them that he had never noticed?

"In a mo'," George replies. Ginny stares at the two for a moment before shrugging and turning to leave. Granger keeps her eyes on them until they are out of sight, clearly curious.

Draco is also curious, and impatient. "Spit it out, George," he says, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. George runs a hand through his hair and begins to pace. Draco watches for a moment, observing the tension in the other man's shoulders and the swiftness of his stride. He makes a show of casting a tempus charm, pretending to be surprised at the time. "Well, would you look at that?" George glances at the clock displayed in the air but doesn't slow down. "My rounds are almost over, and I'd like to get back to number twelve. There's hot tea and a warm bed there with my name on it." George stops in front of him and takes a deep breath.

"I know you mean well, Draco, but you're going about this the wrong way. You can't antagonize her into doing what you want. Not anymore," Draco scoffs and moves to leave, but George's hand on his arm stops him. "I'm serious, mate. You're pissing her right off. She doesn't speak about you at all if she can help it, nor the things you say to her. I agree that she needs to get back on her feet. It's been four years now. We all must continue on. I learned that after—after—" he stops, clearing his throat, and Draco averts his eyes when he notices the tears in the other man's eyes. "Anyway, her and Harry… they need to fix whatever's happened between them, or nothing will ever progress. Too many people look to them for leadership, especially the younger members. Now that Hermione's off active duty and Harry is… well, you know, we're losing morale. We can't keep up like this," Draco pushes off the wall and sighs.

"What would you have me do then? I don't know how to motivate her. Potter, not matter how much he's… changed, still responds to emotional methods. Granger doesn't seem to respond to anything serious. She's a slave to her magic." George snaps his fingers, his eyes lighting up with the force of his idea.

"Teach her to control it!"

"What? George, I can't teach her to control her magic. I can barely get by without my wand. Plus, no one has magic like hers. You know that. It's wild. It has the force of an Obscurus, but without the whole parasite bit." George is shaking his head.

"Hermione still loves a challenge, and she wants to help the Order. You just have to make it seem like that's the only way she'll get put back on active duty,"

"That _is_ the only way she'll get put back on active duty." George just shrugs.

"She doesn't know that yet. They only took her off about six months ago. She thinks it's because of her injury." He holds up a hand when Draco opens his mouth, "I know, Malfoy. She was completely healed in two weeks. But she doesn't know why they haven't sent her on a mission yet. Since you so clearly want her out there fighting, and neither Ginny or I can give her the aggressive shove back onto her feet that she needs, you'll have to figure it out."

Draco is silent for a few moments, rolling George's words around in his head. He thought for sure that Granger would get so angry with his taunts that she would snap and do everything she could to prove him wrong. Maybe she isn't as prideful as he always assumed.

"All right," he agrees finally, "I'll work on my delivery, then," George grins and claps him on the back, offering only a merry wave as he walks around the corner. Up to no good, obviously. Draco shakes his head and finishes up his patrol route, thinking over what to say to Granger the next time he sees her. Perhaps a different approach will work better, after all.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Have any of you seen that video of the girl playing the keyboard who says, "I call this song** _ **College**_ **," and then just screams? Yeah, that's me right now. But I have a break coming up in a couple weeks and should be able to write more. I've had the document for chapter 5 open on my laptop for like a week and I'm still less than 1k words in. I have no excuses, just apologies.** **ALSO: Would y'all prefer for my a/ns to be at the end of the chapter or the beginning, as they have been? Special thanks to Lena2244 and matkatry for reviewing every single chapter, and to everyone else who reads and reviews, even though I am a sorry excuse for an author who can't stick to a posting schedule. I love you all. :)**

ooo

Hermione falls into one of the squashy armchairs that surround the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. Ginny and George are down in the kitchens, begging the elves for cocoa and biscuits most likely. She had checked her copy of the map when she had reached the common room. Hermione had excused herself from their escapade when Ginny had led them into the restricted section of the library. _Too many memories,_ she told them, avoiding their eyes. They had understood, of course. She scoffs to herself and turns, throwing her legs over the side of the chair. _Of course they bloody well understand,_ she thinks, twisting her hands in her lap. _They lost him too, they lost both of them, just like I did._ Ron's face appears in her mind, freckled and smiling and _alive_ and her breath is gone before she realizes it. The ghosts of his touch caress her, hundreds of thousands of whispered _I love you's_ echo around her, the sound of his laugh rings in her ears and she can't _breathe,_ can't _see,_ can't hear because everything is him. Memories pile themselves on her chest until she's choking, gasping out loud, hand to her throat as if that will make it any better. The pain of knowing Ron is truly gone hits her all at once, the way it always does when she allows herself to forget for even a moment, and the white noise that had surrounded her suddenly gives way to sound. There is someone kneeling in front of her, hands probably trapped in her hair. Their voice is soft and soothing and she desperately wants to listen, so she does. Her heart rate calms and her breathing begins to even out. She opens her eyes and blinks away her blurry vision, messy black hair and bright green eyes slowly coming into focus. Her heart sinks as she takes in the panicked look on Harry's face, tears glittering on his cheeks. He is quiet when he speaks.

"Hermione, please," her breath hitches in her chest at the raw agony in his voice, "I miss him, too. I can't—I need—tell me what to say, Hermione," She reaches up and places her hands on his forearms, leaning forward so her head rests on his shoulder.

"I don't know, Harry," she whispers brokenly. He tugs his hands free from her hair and wraps them around her shoulders, pulling her tightly against him. The smell of tobacco, cider, and worn leather invades her senses and she shudders out a sigh. Being comforted by Harry is something that always calms her, even after the way their friendship has deteriorated, even after the way he looked her in the eye and told her _no, Hermione, you're not fit to go on missions. Remember what happened to Padma?_ The very memory causes betrayal to churn in her belly and she begins to stiffen. Harry clears his throat and lets go of her, staring down at his hands on his knees before meeting her eyes.

"It's never going to be the same, is it?" he asks, sorrow playing vividly across his face. Hermione looks up at the ceiling, swallowing hard.

"No," she says finally, watching the mask slam down over Harry's features with indifference, "Nothing is ever going to be the same again," Harry climbs to his feet and dusts off his trousers, turning toward the portrait hole. He stops before he exits, not even looking at her when he speaks.

"There's going to be a raid," he tells her. Her heart picks up again. No one tells her when the raids are anymore, or where. "The night after tomorrow. Lestrange manor," and then he's gone, leaving racing thoughts and questions in his wake. Why did he tell her that? Was it an invitation, or a warning? How many people will be there? Will _she_ be there? Hermione jumps up from the chair she's in and rushes to the fireplace, pausing before she grabs a handful of Floo powder to summon her patronus. The beast beats its wings and all three heads stare at her in anticipation. Hermione sighs inwardly and laments the loss of her cute, sweet little otter for a moment before she speaks, telling her patronus that she is heading back to number twelve, her head is hurting, and _will you please bring back some more eucalyptus? My stock is running low,_ and the beast lets out a soundless roar before racing off to find George and Ginny. Hermione tosses the powder into the fireplace and steps through, barely pausing to dust herself off and sneer at the blond sitting with his wand out before tearing off to her rooms. The green section of the library will probably hold the most useful information on controlling magics. Hopefully she doesn't have to read through too many dark texts before she finds something worthwhile.

George and Ginny had returned late, and Hermione had heard them enter the basement, heard the door to the red room, her potions lab, open and close and assumed that they had dropped the eucalyptus off and decided to let her rest. That had been a few hours ago, now. She rubs a hand across her eyes, sighing as the words on the page in front of her begin to blur. She glances at the stack of books she has discarded, then back at the shelves to her left, frowning. Several of them propose potions and spells to bind a person's magic, all of which leave a bad taste in her mouth. Others explain how to control another person's magic, as though they are a puppet. The text she is currently reading makes little to no sense, and part of it is written in a language she doesn't recognize. All in all, her personal library is a bust. There is nothing in these damned books about controlling one's _own_ magic. The book closes with a loud thump that is echoed by her head when it meets the desk. Perhaps she shouldn't go to the raid. After the last mission she was on, she knows that it is not by Shacklebolt's orders that Harry told her the time and location of another. Maybe it's an olive branch, an offering that Harry knows she will accept. Her heart aches and she closes her eyes against the tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks. It's been a long four years. Six, really, if she counts the years of the war Ron was still alive. But she doesn't, because days with him never dragged on like this. She and Harry had never been at odds like this, not even when she and Ron were fighting. But Harry is a changed man, a bitter man, and she doesn't know how to handle this version of him. Indeed, she doesn't know this version of him at all, it seems.

There's a tingle in her brain, alerting her to Malfoy's presence in her rooms, and she groans aloud. Pushing back from her desk, she stands and turns to face the archway, crossing her arms over her chest and sticking her chin out. She doesn't have the patience to deal with him again tonight. When he crosses into the room, he seems unsurprised to see her waiting for him. His blond hair is pulled back at the nape of his neck and his sleeves are rolled up, baring the scarred remains of his Dark Mark and the dragon that curls around his opposite wrist. Its yellow eyes blink lazily at her when he raises his hands in a show of peace, and to show that he doesn't have his wand out. His sharp gray eyes watch her from the archway, briefly taking in the books she has stacked on her desk. She fights the instinct to move in front of them to hide the titles from him and shifts her weight to her other foot instead. She clears her throat and his eyes snap to hers. She raises an eyebrow.

"What do you want now, Malfoy? This is the third time I've seen you today, and I'm growing tired of your presence." Malfoy rolls his eyes and steps further into the room, focusing on her desk.

"What have you got here, Granger? _Potente Magicka and Ways to Control it,"_ he read, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She pushes down her rising embarrassment and turns her nose up at him.

"I'm—It's none of your business, Malfoy!"

He shrugs and strolls over to her reading chair and sits down, placing an ankle on his opposite knee. His eyes are half-lidded, almost predatory, as he says "Fine, then, Granger. I won't teach you the way to control your magic," Her eyes widen and her heart leaps in her chest. She plasters a sneer onto her face to cover her shock and hopefulness. The overhead light flickers, giving her away, and Malfoy smirks in response.

"You can't teach me that," she says, frowning. "You can barely do wandless magic,"

Malfoy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, "I'm going to ignore your slight to my magical prowess to tell you that _yes,_ I _can_ teach you to control your magic. It's simple, really. I don't know why no one has thought of it yet," She stares at him, waiting for him to go on. After a moment she lets out a huff.

"Well?" she asks impatiently. Malfoy grins up at her.

"Occlumency,"

"No," she says immediately, "Absolutely not. I won't have you rifling around in my head." He scoffs and she places her hands on her hips, glaring at him. "I don't trust you, Malfoy, and I don't want you prying into my intimate thoughts."

"Oh, get over yourself." Malfoy waves a hand dismissively, "I don't want to know what you and Weasley got up to, or how pained you are by his death. I don't even really care about what happened between you and Potter, except for the fact that the younger recruits look up to the two of you," Hermione clenches her fists, feeling her nails dig in to her palms. How bloody _rude_. Her feelings are valid, damn it! She takes a breath to calm her nerves as the overhead light flickers again.

"I'll just get Harry to teach me, then," she says, ignoring his rude snort of disdain.

"Don't be ridiculous," he tells her, placing his foot on the ground and leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. Hermione watches as his dragon stretches, winding tighter around his forearm and then disappearing below his sleeve. "Potter can't teach you Occlumency. He'd be rubbish at it," The arrogance in his voice reminds her of a younger, less jaded Draco Malfoy, the one that had called her names and tried to make their lives as miserable as possible at Hogwarts. It makes her bristle, and she turns her nose up again, affecting a haughty tone.

"I'll have you know Harry is an excellent teacher! He taught most of our year how to produce a patronus in fifth year, which is NEWT level magic. Something you Slytherins would know nothing about," His eyes flash dangerously at the reminder and she feels a sense of triumph at cracking his mask, even a little.

"Yes," he drawls, his voice low enough to send a shiver up her spine, "The little club you all created. Dumbledore's Army, was it?" At her nod, he continues, "Quite an inclusive club you had, Granger. Inclusive of everyone you deemed _worthy_ enough to learn how to protect themselves against us nasty Slytherins."

Hermione tries to fight the flush trying to stain her cheeks and bites out, "As if you were interested in joining, Malfoy. You and your friends were practically wanking off to the thought of being Death Eaters then!"

Malfoy wrinkles his nose, "Yes, I can't deny that myself and Crabbe and Goyle had no interest in joining, but that doesn't mean that other Slytherins did not. Tracey and Daphne were rather put out that they were seen as too evil to participate in extra lessons that could have protected them against their more discriminatory housemates. Not to mention the younger kids, especially the half-bloods that received more than just hateful looks and nasty words," The room falls silent as Hermione swallows hard, fighting the guilt Malfoy is obviously trying to lay on her shoulders. It's not like she would have refused any Slytherins had they expressed an interest in joining, she tells herself, trying to ignore the smug look on Malfoy's face.

"Well," she says, clearing her throat and her mind. "Regardless, my point is that Harry can teach me anything I need to know," Malfoy lets out a groan, startling her. He rarely is so expressive, even audibly.

"Granger," his tone is one of long-suffering patience, "Potter can't teach you Occlumency because he doesn't know how he does it. He was never taught, at least not by someone who could put aside their personal feelings long enough to be effective." His description of Snape's failed attempt to teach Harry Occlumency is understated, but still correct. She wonders for a moment how he knows about it. "Whatever happened between you and Potter will make it difficult for him to teach you, even if he could. You need someone who can put aside their personal bias and break it down into steps."

"And that someone is you," she states, her tone flat. He nods and stands, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wand. Hermione's shoulders immediately tense, relaxing only marginally when it remains at his side.

"Come on, Granger," he cajoles, moving over to the loveseat and sitting down. He pats the cushion next to him in invitation. She eyes him warily, equal parts distrust and desperation to control her magic. The more she thinks about what he said about Harry, the more it begins to make sense. Harry wouldn't be able to remain objective. He would want answers as to why she resents him, why she's so _dangerous_ now. The thought brings a sneer to her face. Dangerous _now_ , as if she wasn't before. Malfoy, like George and Ginny, has never shown fear around her. Anger yes, but she has never once seen him look afraid of her. Sometimes she thinks she even sees a small amount of grudging respect in those murky silver eyes. Perhaps this is worth a shot. She crosses over to him and sits down, as far away from him as she can physically get, ignoring his quiet huff of laughter.

"Well, go on then, Malfoy," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "We're not getting any younger, you know." He stares at her for a beat longer before he straightens and begins to speak.

"Okay, Granger. First you need to organize your thoughts. Anything you don't want me to see needs to be put away in a lock box of sorts. Imagine a key only you know the location of. Hide the key away." He pauses and looks at her expectantly. Hermione has her eyes closed, a look of deep concentration on her face. She makes a small noise and he continues, "Now, imagine creating a wall in front of that lock box. It can be made of whatever you like; the materials don't influence the strength. The force of your will does."

Hermione does her best to sweep all her memories from before and after Hogwarts into the lock box Malfoy described, imagining locking it with an ornate key and hiding the key in the very back of her mind. Then, she imagines a red brick wall assembling itself in front of the box. Once the last brick is in place, she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. "I'm ready," she tells him. Malfoy nods once and lifts his wand.

She has only a moment to try and quell her rising nervousness before he whispers, " _Legilimens,"_ and there's a light shove at the wall in her mind, causing a few bricks to fall off the top. Malfoy's voice echoes in her brain. "Come now, Granger," He sounds almost disappointed, and there's another light push and more bricks fall. Her breathing begins to quicken and she tries to rebuild the wall with no success. Another push and the wall tumbles down, revealing the plain lock box hidden behind it.

 _He could get in if he really wanted to,_ a voice whispers. _What's the point of hiding now? You never should have let him in._ Hermione's shoulders droop. It's true. The key materializes and the box springs open, memories filled with loud voices and laughter spilling out first. The tone of them grow gradually darker, but Malfoy makes no move to pursue any, until the one of her and Harry's first fights after Ron's death surfaces. He grabs that one with both hands and Hermione cringes.

 _She and Harry are sitting in one of the parlors at number twelve, bodies tense. He reeks of alcohol and she of sex. His eyes are hard and angry and his jaw ticks with the force of his frustration. Her legs are crossed primly at the ankles, hands in her lap. Neither of them is looking at the other._

" _Why?" Harry spits out after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. Hermione's head snaps in his direction, eyes narrowed. Her voice is like ice when she speaks._

" _Why what, Harry?" he grunts and shifts so that he's facing her, his hands fisted on his knees._

" _You know what, Hermione. Don't play dumb," his voice is sarcastic, "It doesn't suit you. Although at the rate you've been going, one might think dumb decisions are your new cloak. You surround yourself with them to ward off the chill of your own loneliness," Hermione sneers to hide the hurt that his words have caused. He was supposed to understand._

" _You're one to talk, Harry. You move from vice to vice and fight like if you stop it'll kill you. Don't think I haven't seen you trying to drown your guilt at the bottom of a bottle," She feels gratified for a moment at the flash of pain in his eyes before the guilt hits her. Hurting Harry won't solve anything. But damn, does it feel good right now. Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. The exhale is slightly shaky and guilt needles her again._

" _Regardless," Harry says, opening his eyes and pinning her with his stare. "His brother, Hermione? How could you?"_

" _How could I_ what, _Harry? Seek comfort in the arms of a man who cares about me and needs comfort as much as I do? Or is it just because I was intimate with someone who isn't R- Ron?" Harry opens his mouth to speak but she cuts him off. "Or," her voice is deadly soft, "Is it because my sleeping with more than one person in my lifetime reminds you of Ginny and the fact that, to her,_ anyone _is better than you. You're afraid I'm replacing you just like she did."_

 _Harry looks as if he's been slapped, such is the force of his shock. His emerald eyes radiate anguish and rage. He closes them for a moment and when he opens them again, they are almost lifeless. He stands and leaves the room without saying another word. Hermione tries and fails to feel vindicated._

Hermione returns to her library with a gasp, eyes suspiciously wet. Malfoy is staring at her as though he's never seen her before and her embarrassment begins to grow.

"What?" she snaps defensively, crossing her arms over her chest to hide her shaking fingers. His eyes catch on them for a moment and when they meet hers they are significantly softer than she has ever seen them. He only shrugs and waves his hand.

"Try again," he says, leaning forward slightly. "This time try making each individual brick as strong as you can and bond them together tightly. I know your will is stronger than that." Hermione closes her eyes and begins the process of clearing her mind again, ignoring the way her lips twitch up at the respect that is clear in Malfoy's voice while he instructs her.

She tries a total for twenty-three times to keep him out, only successful on the eighteenth and the twenty-second try. Her head is pounding and her vision is beginning to blur.

"No more," she pants, digging the palms of her hands into her eyes and then raking her curls away from her face. Her face is flushed and she feels drained. Malfoy stares at her with half-lidded eyes that are so blood-shot his irises seem to glow.

"Fine," he says, turning his head to the side and cracking his neck. "You did well, Granger. After that first memory, I didn't glimpse any that would have made you uncomfortable or upset. Although, that dreadful ballet recital when you were eight made _me_ cringe," There's a teasing tone to his voice and Hermione can't help the snort of laughter that escapes her.

"I was nervous, Malfoy. It's not my fault all the other dancers fell like dominoes just because I bumped into one of them," Malfoy shakes his head, the corners of his lips twitching upward. He stands to go and Hermione marvels at the feeling of being at ease around _Malfoy_ of all people, when just twelve hours ago she wanted to wring his pale neck. Maybe there's something about having someone in your head that makes you more comfortable around them. Or maybe it's the care he took with her, the respect that was obvious in his avoidance of any uncomfortable memories except the first one. Malfoy clears his throat and she shakes her head, looking up to see him paused in the archway, hands in his pockets.

"I'll be back here at one tomorrow," he tells her. She opens her mouth to protest, to invite him over earlier, but he cuts her off, "You did well today, Granger, but if you want to sneak into the upcoming raid we'll need to put in more work. I won't have you embarrass me when I've disobeyed direct orders to get you a portkey." He throws a wink at her and turns the corner, leaving her speechless. Telling her about the raid wasn't Harry's idea, after all. He told her under orders from Malfoy. Not only that, but Malfoy is disobeying Shacklebolt's _direct_ orders. _Why_ echoes in her head as she puts away her books and walks dazedly to her room and pulls back her purple comforter, rolls onto her side and stares at her purple walls, and doesn't leave her alone until exhaustion forces her brain to shut off.


	6. Chapter 5

**_Disclaimer: I don't own HP._**

 _Hermione, Padma, Draco and Theo are crowded around a large, ornate desk. A piece of parchment is spread out in front of them, and Theo and Malfoy are bickering about whether or not a map that insults you when you guess the incorrect password or one that blows a raspberry would be funnier._

 _"I'm telling you, Theo, the insults aren't funny! They'll just make someone want to destroy the map! The charm is more complicated, too," he leans away from the desk, crossing his arms. Hermione fights a smile at Theo's snort._

 _"You're only saying that because you got embarrassed in front of Granger, here, and the other big wigs of the Order." Draco's cheeks take on a pink hue and he scowls, catching Hermione's amused gaze for a moment before looking away. Padma covers her mouth to hide a grin._

 _"Bollocks. Anyway, a raspberry would be funnier! It's something a child would do, or a fart joke," he smirks suddenly, as though this is the most brilliant comparison he has ever made. Theo's answering stare is incredulous, and Padma bursts into loud, raspy laughter. Draco's smirk melts off his face and he raises an eyebrow in silent question._

 _"You—Draco Malfoy, haughtiest of the—of the haughty purebloods—think f-fart jokes are funny?" By the time Padma has finished speaking, Hermione has joined her in her laughter, delighted over the simple fact that someone as rude and snooty as Malfoy finds jokes about flatulence amusing. She turns to look at Padma, to offer some kind of verbal reassurance that she is not alone in her mockery, only to find that the room has been replaced with the cold, marble floors of the Lestrange manor. Draco and Theo are gone, Rodolphus and Rabastan in their place. Rodolphus' hair hangs in his eyes, stringy and dirty, and does nothing at all to hide the madness that shines from them. Rabastan is laughing, his wand pointed over Hermione's head and when she turns to look, Padma is arched up from the floor in an almost unnatural position and her mouth is open wide in a silent scream, and Hermione thinks deliriously that she has a cavity in her second molar before the panic sets in and she begins to hyperventilate. Her magic buzzes in her fingertips and so she curls her hands into fists, belatedly realizing that she is restrained. Her long-wounded pride scoffs at the notion that she could be held down and her fear snaps at it to bloody well be quiet and then she is screaming, pain is rushing over her body in waves, knives are slicing her body into ribbons, hot irons are being pressed into her ribs, someone is squeezing her head with a pointed metal clamp and she will do anything, anything to make it stop. Pressure is welling in her chest and she sobs, begging God, Merlin, fucking anyone to make it stop. Just when she thinks,_ this is it, this is how I die _, the pressure bursts like a water pipe and all she knows is sweet, blissful nothing._

Draco pulls out of Hermione's head with a gasp that he tries to hide. Looking at the woman in front of him, he doesn't think she noticed his momentary lapse in his cool facade. Her eyes are still closed and her breathing is rapid. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheek and Draco realizes with a curse that she is still stuck in the memory. He leans forward and grasps her shoulder, ignoring the painful zap he gets from her magic.

"Granger," he says, shaking her gently at first. When she doesn't respond, he shakes her harder, this time earning a burn that blisters the palm of his hand. He frowns and heals it with a wave of his wand before turning once more to the distraught witch in front of him. Her normally tan skin is pale against the green of the loveseat, and Draco smothers a groan when a tear makes its way down to drip off her chin. Comforting a crying woman that he doesn't particularly like is not one of Draco's skills. This hasn't happened yet, even through a very tiring fifteen or sixteen hours of practice over the past two days leading up to the raid, and he doesn't know what to do. He contemplates leaving, but decides that perhaps that would be callous of him. He does a check of his own mental barriers, just in case her magic lashes out at him mentally, and bursts back into Granger's mind, ignoring the grisly scene she had woken up to half a year ago. He had been there in person for that one, and doesn't need any more fuel for his own nightmares.

 _Granger,_ his voice echoes in her mind and the edges of the memory begin to fray, lines begin to blur. Broken, incoherent Spanish phrases are her only response and he sighs. She had been like this then, too, and when he had watched his mad aunt torture her on the floor of his childhood home. _Hermione,_ his voice is firm this time, and Granger's mind seems to hiccup.

" _Por favor, no_ ," Granger sobs, this time out loud. Her golden eyes fly open and catch Draco's own gray stare, throwing him slightly off balance. " _Padma, oh Dios, ¿qué he hecho?_ _¡No quise hacerlo! ¡Fue un accidente!"_ She stares up at him, eyes wild and wet. She launches herself forward, gripping the front of his robes tightly. " _Sabes que fue un accidente, ¿verdad, Draco?"_ Her words are desperate and Draco, despite his growing discomfort, nods in response. Hermione's lids close and she lets out a shaky sigh of relief, letting go of his robes and pillowing her face in her hands. He studies her for a moment longer, admiring the fact that, although she had lost control of her memories, she had not lost control of her _magic._ Well, not in any way that mattered. He'd take shocks and blisters all day if it meant avoiding an explosion.

"Granger," he says, his tone as gentle as he can make it. Her shoulders twitch, but she doesn't look at him. He huffs, frustrated, and reaches into his robes to pull out a handkerchief, purposely brushing it against her fingers so that she will take it from him. She does, and Draco tries not to remember the last time he had given a crying witch a handkerchief, or the way that she had flinched when he put his arm around her shoulders in comfort. It had, perhaps, not been the wisest choice considering what had happened to her mere hours before he'd found her, broken, bleeding, and sobbing in a puddle of bodily fluids he refused to identify. He decides not to repeat that performance with Granger, just to be on the safe side.

" _Lo siento_ ," Granger says, sniffling. Her words are slightly muffled by her hands. " _Perdí completamente el control de mí mismo_. _Creo que deberíamos intentarlo de nuevo._ _Sé que sólo hay un par de horas antes de la redada, pero_ -"

" _No estás hablando Inglés,"_ Draco interrupts, faintly amused as Granger's head snaps up, her lips parted in surprise. Her cheeks flush as comprehension enters her eyes and Draco feels the corner of his mouth begin to curl upward.

" _Por qué no te—"_ She clears her throat and tries again, "Why didn't you stop me earlier?"

"I speak some Spanish, Granger. I stopped you when I could no longer understand what you were saying," he explains. She huffs and rolls her eyes, straightening her spine and placing her hands in her lap.

"I'm sorry," she repeats, wrinkling her nose just the slightest bit, as though the apology she is offering him smells awful. "I usually have better control over my languages." Draco notices, for the first time, the slight Spanish accent that Granger possesses. True, its subtle and seems to be fading rapidly as she speaks, but the way her tongue rolls the letter r enchants him. After a moment of staring at her soft-looking mouth, Draco realizes she is still speaking and shakes his head slightly to remove the impure thoughts that are trying to embed themselves in his brain.

"Granger," he says, cutting her off again. But Merlin, the woman could talk forever. "While you lost control of your shields and got sucked into a rather unpleasant memory," she snorts at the understatement, but he continues like she hadn't made a sound. "You didn't lose control of your magic. Not really, anyway. There's only—" he casts a wandless _tempus_ , "An hour and a half until the raid, and I am needed in the planning room. I'll meet you back in this room with the portkey, and everything will be fine. Okay?"

The way she stares at him is really quite unnerving and Draco has to consciously keep himself from fidgeting. Nervousness and determination swirl behind her amber eyes and he finds himself remembering the coffee brown, almost black, of a younger Granger, wondering where it went and why this new color is so intoxicating.

"Okay," she says finally, casting a quick _scourgify_ and handing him back the handkerchief. He takes it and stands quickly, not wanting to spend another second in the room. He is beginning to feel trapped by the way she looks at him, as though he's a puzzle and she's got the border done and is trying to figure out where all the inside pieces lay. He gives a stiff nod and turns on his heel to leave, heading through the winding halls to the stair case, climbing it two steps at a time.

On his way to the planning room, located on the ground floor at the back of the house, he runs into Charlie. The red-headed man has cut the sides and back of his hair close to his head, so that a pompadour remains on the top, giving the man an extra few centimeters to his stout frame. His beard is not as long as it was when Draco last saw him, and there is a new scar that starts in the middle of his forehead and travels diagonally down his face, seemingly bisecting his left eye and disappearing into his beard, the tail end peeking out on his neck. Draco calls out a quick greeting, lengthening his strides to catch up to his friend.

"Wicked scar, mate," he says, and Charlie grins, crinkling said scar and reaching up to adjust an eyepatch Draco had been unable to see from a few feet away.

"I got it during a skirmish with the Grand Pillock himself," he says proudly, causing Draco to snort out a laugh at the nickname Ginny had given Dolohov after he'd hit her with a _sectumsempra_ that left a winding scar up her calf. "He used the same damn curse that prompted Ginny to give him that name," The man scowls briefly, no doubt remembering the way his sister had screamed as she'd fallen in battle. "Luckily Caia was there to heal me up. Couldn't save the eye, though," At this, he flips up his eyepatch and Draco inhales sharply at the empty socket. The skin there is still red, unlike the rest of the scar. His chest constricts, but he tries to keep the guilt from showing on his face, knowing Charlie will not appreciate it. The other man has a knowing look in his good eye, and Draco knows he was not successful. He clears his throat uncomfortably and looks away.

"I always knew I liked that American witch of yours. Good charm work on that patch as well." Charlie just smiles in response. "I couldn't see it till I got close. Are you going to get a prosthetic?" He asks, beginning to walk toward the planning room again. He sees Charlie nod out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm thinking about asking Hermione if she can do something for me. Kind of like what Mad-Eye had, but less obvious, maybe,"

Draco frowns thoughtfully, knowing that if anyone can do that, it's Granger. Whether or not she is up to the challenge is another story, especially after the up-coming raid. He wonders if he should tell Charlie about what he's been doing with Granger lately. If he does, it will be one more person who knows of his disobedience, bringing the total up to four including himself. If he doesn't, Charlie will likely be cross with him, as all of the remaining Weasleys are extremely protective of Granger. Charlie seems to know something is on his mind, however, and stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Spit it out, mate, before it eats your brain," he says, catching Draco's gaze with his eye. Draco sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets, briefly pulling out his wand to cast _Muffilatio._ Charlie's brows raise in question, but Draco remains silent for a moment more, warring with himself over being truthful to one of his few remaining friends and keeping his cards close to his chest like he had been taught by his parents.

Finally, he blurts out, "I've been training Granger in Occlumency," The not-quite-the-truth is the best compromise he can think of. He's been training her, yes, but the why is something he won't answer fully, not for Charlie or anyone else. He's barely admitted it to himself. It was only when he caught himself smiling at the determination and triumph shining in Granger's eyes when she succeeded in keeping him out, when he felt true pride at her control over her magic, did he let himself think that things were going back to how they should be. Something about the world was off when Hermione Granger lost the fire in her soul, the light in her eyes. Seeing it return to her gave him a bit of hope in the face of sheer uncertainty. Not that he would say such a thing aloud.

"Why?" Charlie asks, predictably. There's no mistrust or caution in his tone; just simple confusion. Draco shrugs.

"I want her to be able to fight. She's powerful, she's useful. Sure, things are a little iffy when it comes to her magic, but if she can control her emotions, I think she'll be all right." Charlie stares at him, eye narrowed, for a moment before his mouth twitches up into a smile. He claps his hand on Draco's back, pushing him toward the planning room. He dispels the _Muffilatio_ with a wave of his hand.

"I think you're right," is all he says. Draco allows his shoulders to fall out of their tense line and lets out a silent breath of relief. They round the corner into the room and Looney Lovegood's eyes immediately lock on his. He double checks his mental barriers as he feels a slight brush against them, thinking to himself that it feels good to have a friend who trusts you without question. Lovegood sends him a sunny smile as she pulls from his mind, standing from her seat at the front of the table to begin the meeting.

 **A/N: I… I have no excuse. This story has haunted me for nearly two years. I hope to finish it, one day. I've had this chapter written for half as long as my little hiatus, if it can be called that. I can't offer any promises on an update schedule, but I _can_ promise that I will try my best to actually finish this.**

 **Love,**

 **(a very embarrassed and ashamed) M**


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